


Then He Came Along

by kallipta



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Grown Up Characters, Multi, adrinette and marichat, no magic, they're finishing high school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-10-02 06:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10211243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallipta/pseuds/kallipta
Summary: Paris was a random city on the map. Romance? sure. The city of love, fashion and love? Yeah.It became something else when a single, smooth hero came along to fight back the appearance of those so-called "akumas" that threatened the city, and maybe the world, of being turned upside down.Marinette, at the doors of her long-term dream of pursuing her fashion design studies and career, encounters (in what would have been an almost-death experience) none other than the one and only twenty-first century super-hero.But there's more to it.





	1. The first hero

The sun looked brighter all of a sudden, and then everything stopped.

A darker shade of pinkish clouds appeared all around her and her dawning city, as if summoned, and from one second to the next, Marinette, now grabbing onto her parents' groceries, could no longer tell time.

A soft, pink sort of glass enveloped her and made a blur out of her surroundings.

 

Was another akuma, like the ones from last week, taking control of her now?

Was this one finally the one that would destroy her city for good?

 

As her heart started to race, screams took over the place.

She wanted to stop the world from crumbling all around her but, instead, it was the world - or rather, the akuma - that stopped her from doing anything about it.

Children were beginning to suffocate in tears as they looked for their moms, still not being able to get out of their individual cages.

As the akuma sought for attention, none of them could ran, hide or even pinpoint where it was.

Her mind raced towards possible solutions, but her body hardly moved. Frozen as she was, not only was she reluctant and confused on what she should do, standing powerless right in from of Notre Dame, but she was also incapable of properly controlling her own body.

Tears of frustration itched her eyes and her heart ached at the sight of her city being akumatized, more and more, being controlled and framed by an increasing grey smoke that prevented her from realizing what was exactly going on - and yet, being very much aware of her own captive condition.

The city of lights stopped, leaving Marinette to just another civilian in a midst of cages and a crying crowd.

The noise seemed somewhat appeased from the insides her cage, and her eyes, growing strangely tired, finally shut.

 

After what must only have been minutes, the tiles directly above her suddenly fell from their place as a sneaky shadow descended, slowly, to her side of the street.

 

The akuma, from the opposite direction, threateningly stepped towards them, revealing itself at last.

She, placed in between two potential threats, intended to pull herself forward as the situation, filling her heart with fear and need, came back to her.

Marinette’s voice returned from her now colder body and she could hear herself scream, but nothing seemed to really change.

Marinette could hear something discharge what supposedly were the akuma' minions at fast pace, and the burden on her chest began to faze little by little. But as the unrecognizable shadow hid beneath her, the akuma jumped towards where she was, directly facing her now. But, as she was only a civilian - why?

The akuma, with an angered face and blackened eyes looking below, let her fear the worst as it, for some inexplicable reason, ran towards her pink cage. The girl took air in, waiting, but the hit never came. In its place, what sounded like flat metal stroke in the akuma’s way, slowly making it groan and clumsily fall on its butt.

Perplexed, she could see how her cage - along with all the others in the street, became of a lighter shade and the smoke that came along them faded slightly, allowing the streets of Paris to briefly recover their vision while the akuma laid back, still apparently confused and pressing its big, robotic head against its hands.

As Marinette felt something moving behind her, she gasped, holding herself as the steps reached her, slowly, striking the earth.

She shut open her eyes and, now with frankly more vision and quite a bit of strength back, forced herself still and faced back the eerie guy - which now, stood right next to her.

With tearful eyes and a closed throat, she raised her chin in his direction: a stiff figure, covered in black and holding a baton, raised by her side.

The akuma became to stabilize and, at the sight of new but lighter smoke, the figure moved – lightly, gracefully, effortlessly – only to put the robot back to its place and finish it with what looked like a stick, hitting it back on its metallic head and crashing something along its way in what could only be a fatal strike. But, as ever for her surprise, from the metallic remains of the akuma’s body (or was it from the dark, standing one?) emanated a dark spiral.

Its warmth covered everything and, once in the middle of it, Marinette watched how everything started to get back to its original shape. It was a warm, sparkling smoke, as if filled with tiny crystals that didn’t hurt but _heal_ , and, as if out of a dream, Marinette realized that there were no longer cages nor fear.

With that reassurance in her heart, she looked up back again, and saw him – the dark silhouette, obviously tired and calm but growing familiar in her chest by the minute, reappearing from the smoke.

She noticed, breathtaken, how two pointy cat-like ears perked up in the middle of locks of disorganized golden hair, that lead to a slowly raising pair of closed eyes.

Marinette intended to move forwards him (perhaps to thank him) but he caught her off guard, as he started back to move and finally pierced her with the greenest eyes, barely human, grasping the whole life of earth in its iris.

 

Like that, he disappeared, leaving the Parisian afternoon feeling warm and welcoming around her, filling everything with familiar odors and noises, as if the world hadn’t just moved one tiny bit.


	2. First first day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First times are always special. 
> 
> But so are second first times.

* _An unknown young man freed Paris from danger and was spotted in several roofs right after. Does this mean Paris will get its good luck back? Reports are still on course as several witnesses agree on his bizarre appearance and an unexpected silence from his part. Will keep on all future developments_ ,…*

As the background noises followed her into the kitchen, Marinette rushed back her attention to what very few witnesses had managed to get on camera.  
_It wasn’t a dream after all!_ A newly-found comfort warmed her chest and - why was her suddenly this blissful? _These are for sure exciting news, anyway. A real-life hero_ … How could someone like _her_ have been that _lucky_ as to be at the right place at the right moment and get a glimpse of _him_ at his very first appearance?

This _joy_ that had her so astonished… was it really okay to feel like this about a situation that almost turned to catastrophe?  
But that’s what heroes meant, anyway - hope.

She abandoned that line of thought and focused on her chores. There was a long day ahead and she still had to prepare everything before helping to open the bakery. And head to school - a couple months more and she will finally get to focus on fashion design!

Just a couple of months.

.  
.  
.

 

* _I see. Yes, I do realize that. I take what I hear from you. I am very much looking forward this new situation to accompany us in the future…_ *

  
At what most likely was a phone conversation, Adrien slid into the dining room only to find, strangely enough, his father looking outside the window with a nerve-racking relaxed posture.  
As Gabriel shut his phone in his pocket, he became aware of his son’s presence and turned to him, now with a sober and as ever so observant and stoic expression.

\- I’ve been considering these news circumstances in what regards your particular… interest. I’ve decided we could as well take advantage of this new opportunity, as Paris has just gained a fairly uncommon sort of protection. That is, of course, always proceeding with mesure…

Without pinpointing what his father was intending to tell him at this time in the morning and in such a place as their own living room - all their encounters were prompt to strictly take place in his office instead - still Adrien wasn’t sure of what this interest he was supposedly looking forwards to was his father out of the blue referring to.  
Of course his objective had always been one but the same: his freedom, his freedom – his _freedom_.  
And he had indeed pursued it, several times, every day a bit more familiar and less unsettling.  
Or perhaps, more accurately, every _night_ …

But none of those escapades nor disguises were of Gabriel’s knowledge.  
They couldn’t be.

So, with confusion blurring his vision and a pounding heart in his hands, he stood there, silent, only reunating his strength to appear as less perplexed and a bit more clueless than his heart truly felt.

Through his feeling of pure awareness, he couldn’t help but try and redirect the conversation to what would hopefully turn into a full statement on _what was it_ his father had in mind for him this time.

\- Surely you realize what Paris is facing now. This is without a doubt a unique timing for us. Our house should as well be grateful for this change of events, Adrien. And I have taken notice on your calm behavior this past month. Especially ever since your pleads for a reschedule have stopped. You see, I think we might be getting to a point of agreement here.

Silence.  
And he continued.

\- But you do should get going. There are only a few months left for you to experience a different kind of education, for now. You could say you’ve proved of not being at risk of falling behind, and you might now experiment something different, for a brief change. As long as you are at all times mindful.

Widened eyes, he wasn’t sure of how to react nor what to say. He had admittedly given up on reaching a mid way agreement with his father - with _Monsieur Agreste_. He had, for a while now, decided to separate himself from whatever was expected him to feel.  
Pronouncing a bunch of reverential words, he dashed to school. Right there and then: no electronics, no backpack. No nothing but himself.

Everything he needed.

.  
.  
.

\- So, like, you really saw the guy?

Marinette had actually managed to get to class strangely early, and had bumped into her best friend and confident. Not like she could sleep anyway. Not ever since a pair of dangerously green eyes followed her into the dark.  
Into her dreams.

\- Marinette! but this is crazy! Do you realize what this means?

The words ran around her in circles, floating, evidently more energetic than her focus was. She was exhausted, filled with enduring adrenaline (which she really didn’t understand why stuck with her after so many hours after the incident) and anticipation. Lots of anticipation.  
The world - her world had just unveiled. And she wanted to race towards it. Or towards him.

\- Mari, are you okay? you keep sighing. I seriously don’t get you, girl! You should be hopping in happy hops right now! 

 Can you even hear me?

 

She was happy.  
She was.  
Energy flooded her veins.  
Energy that kept her awake after hours and up while she could.  
An unprecedented bliss that was as stubborn as her and wouldn’t let it go. _Was he cute?_

She closed her eyes.

Alya sighed and started to lay back in her chair as the teacher started to organize her papers and talked to who was more likely herself in front of a flustered classroom.

Marinette fought against her body to keep her eyes open.  
Her eyes. She fought to open her eyes.  
To get them to open.

A strong, quick noise happened at some point in the morning. She looked in the direction of the door, only looking first, very instinctively, to her best friend’s gaping.

.  
.  
.

He hadn’t managed to get it all on point on his (public) first day out in the real world. His father seemed to have been extremely shook for this mysterious individual after all.  
And maybe that mysterious individual was not such a terrible idea, after all.

A bump in his pocket growled at him and kept him under the impression that, no matter how many times he had showered that morning, he could never come across again as someone who didn’t stink like Camembert. Not that he had completely make up his mind on whether what to do with _that_ , but that wasn’t the biggest trouble in his mind, as his life was suddenly filled with new possible escenarios and he was, for the first time in his life, rushing - with his real-life feet, with his real-life body running in the real-life, day-time Parisian sidewalks as he got, just fashionably late, to his first day to public school.  
The fact that his father didn’t argue with him still fed a reluctant doubt in his chest, but he wouldn’t dare to miss this one shot. So he entered the doors, quickly swapped his forehead, shut up Plagg, and found his class.

.  
.  
.

A blond new student seemed like fun.  
As Mdm. Bustier sat him right in front of her and exchanging a quick, nervous and openly timid smile, she stared in honest amusement to the boy in front of her as the class resumed somewhere around her.  
Sleek, shiny hair illuminated the class for her now.  
A glorious sight that wanted to give her the extra push to her excitement on these ending months of senior year.

A face that slowly looked to his feet and clutched into hers when no one else saw.

Eyes that would pierce into her lungs and would, silently, make them hold themselves tightly.

.  
.  
.

Bakery.  
That’s where he knew her from.  
One of the few - one of the two places he’d go while running in a cheap, tacky disguise. He’d dress as older men, as normal men. He’d take a hat or two, he’d use eyeliner and some pieces of clothing he had bought behind his dad’s back during unusual unsupervised occasions.  
And he wandered around Paris, unseen. Unspotted.

He’d watch her work. He’d watch her smile.

He’d follow that smell, more often that he had realized, and find himself a safe, cozy spot on that bakery. On that coziness that surrounded those afternoons and those early-mornings.  
He’d get notice of that same face that appeared around him almost every time he sneaked out of his Mansion - he’d even become aware of its regularity. Adrien would become aware of its absence. And Adrien would become anxious around its appearing.

And, for a moment there, that eerie pixie-like grumpy cat was not such a blunder as he thought.

.  
.  
.

Yes.  
What happened that day was dangerous. As dangerous as it gets. _But_ , still… maybe those catastrophes weren’t just bad as she had thought- or they were not as long as they were accompanied of him.

Of his sight, of his figure, even covered in disguise. The atmosphere that followed him. His presence, the gravity that encouraged her or pushed her towards his existence.

Maybe, if anything, it was something more of a miracle.

At least that’s what it was for _her._


	3. He jumped

 

 

\- I mean. Wouldn’t it be easier, say…

 

\- Uhh. You kids I will never understand! What’s the big deal? You seemed so happy about it just a couple of days ago. Come on, don’t pout at me!

 

\- Hey! it’s not like that… it’s just- wouldn’t it be better if you were with someone who could… have a normal life? get out of their place at their will?

 

\- Seeeriously, though. Live a little! What’s honestly the big deal now? didn’t you ask for this? didn’t you dream about running free, hair loosen to the sunset’s breeze?

 

\- Come on, Plagg

 

He sighed, turning his head to his while, impeccable pillow.

 

It was true that Paris had kept on being attacked, so it hadn’t been on his hand not to try to go and do something- anything about it.

Especially since _he_ was inexplicably stuck with an odd enough fairy who insisted on him being _The Chosen_ , or whatever.

But it was also true that he had acted on a mere impulse that day, a mixture of having to take a hold of his great opportunity of breaking finally free out of his misery, inert routine and taking a glimpse of his deepest dreams: of actually running, of climbing and jumping free without direction nor schedule. Yes, he had taken that shot that day, at the same time unable to ignore the street’s ice-terror screaming for any longer.

He had both _wanted_ to use that ring, and he had _known_ , right then and there, that he absolutely _needed_ to, as well…

 

But that didn’t inherently mean that he’d keep on using it. And he was sure as hell that didn’t mean that he had accepted becoming the only super-hero of the twenty-first century, neither.

 

So, what was he supposed to do now? Just ask for someone else to replace him now that he had gotten the idea of what freedom tasted like?

… to whom?

 

His head span around him, without even asking for his permission.

He kept thinking, over and over: what would his mom say, if he could tell her?

Would she tell him, too, that he (that _someone like him_ ) was insane to even consider being of help, like he was pretty sure that anyone else would tell him?

 

What would he even ask?

 

And what emotion would show up on her face if he did told her? What he had done. What he thought about doing onwards. His doubts. His reasons. His impure reasons! the true colors behind the _first hero_ in Paris...

 

And how would Marinette look at him like, if she knew?

_Marinette_.

 

He kept glancing at her direction when in class, now that he had just found her - and in his own classroom, and right there behind him.

Everyday. Every hour… well, not every hour.

And, really, not every day.

 

But, close enough.

 

Close.

She was _so close._

 

What were the odds for the girl who gave light into his grumpy, lonely escapists mornings, to randomly occupy a growing space on his life?

How was that even possible?

 

Or maybe he was just overthinking it. Overthinking her?

 

Even with random disguises he always found _her_.

Were it a super-cat disguise or an old-man’s, he’d always end up right on the same place: before _her,_ soaking into cinnamon and vanilla and fresh bread aroma. Looking to her...

 

And he’d ask for warmth and for a twenty-minutes peace. And he’d  _breathe_ …

 

 

In any case, he wasn’t about to give in and take on yet another responsibility, and one _that_ big -or, at least, he _wouldn’t_ just because of some random box appearing before his TV one day.

 

In Paris there surely had to be someone better to receive that amount of power: someone other than him. Someone who wouldn’t just take it because he wanted to get on top of a roof and go for a scroll. No matter how he felt right after that. 

 

Someone _better._

 

 

 

It was during this course of thought that the blonde didn’t realize the purplish cloud that took over the capital city.

Again.

 

* _Havoc is fleeing the streets of Paris as we speak*_ His gaze, diverting towards the news’s broadcasting channel at the tone.

_*The authorities are demanding us to keep as calm as possible while they re-locate security to the possible source of damage -*_

Him, now, facing the balcony’s sight.

A lilac sky abreast and an itching, almost burning sensation around his finger. Around his ring. _His_ ring…

 

One last look at his (or at the Mansion’s) TV, and he felt, almost instinctively, how Plagg actually dropped his cheese and proceeded to stare at him, arms and legs still at his tiny sides.

 

Waiting for him, almost summoned-

_*Yet another set of attacks have occurred during the last ten minutes, as reported, from considerably apart points all across the suburbs -_

_What comes next remains a mystery as we keep on waiting for our much expected and celebrated hero…_

_Stay tuned.*_

 

 

Then, he saw her.

 

On the screen: a stylish, petite ballerina silhouette trapped, yet again, under a spell.

He focused on the image.

 

Behind (yet another, in that week) trap, there was a brave girl. A stiff, brave girl. A girl he knew.

 

Standing still, with a fierce look on her face that would pierce through any camera in the world to get to him and her left arm stretched over a bunch of civilians, covering them -of civilians very much like she was- in a very protective, an almost fighter posture.

 

A dark-haired, stubborn girl.

 

 

And so, he jumped from his balcony.

 

Theatrically, in what almost looked like an effortless somersault.

 

Falling towards the void beneath his human form.

 

Abandoning his body to what his heart kept on racing:

 

 

_Transformez-moi_


	4. Alone?

 

He watched her fight, defending herself - and not just herself, as it gave him strength. 

 

She was the one to make him bravest than he had ever been before: a fire, probably bearing only her name, lit up on his chest as he saw her growing relentless, pushing herself further and further. Shouldn’t she be the one supposedly protecting the city instead of him, really? 

 

.

.

.

 

Marinette had no idea of what she was doing. 

But she knew what she _wanted_ to do, and so, she wouldn’t just lay back to her all too-common comfort zone. Especially not now that she knew what one person alone could do for her people. So, she stood instead. 

She stood and gazes were drawn towards her, reaching for her in seek of help and paying her a now unwavering attention.

 

She stood, as she swore to herself she’d do just as much as she could. 

 

And as she hoped it’d be enough. 

  

.

.

.

 

Marinette was there. 

 

Marinette was in danger. 

 

As that thought grew on him, playing forgetful just wasn’t an option any longer. 

 

But… 

Marinette was _there._

Marinette was _fighting._ Fighting just like he could’ve been. As he still could be. 

That was actually his job to begin with, shouldn’t he at least help? shouldn’t he be the one in her place? 

 

He _should_ be the one facing that danger. 

He’s the one… _preparer,_ with a suit on his baggage, at least 

 

But she _was_ Marinette! 

 _The_ Marinette. 

 

He wouldn’t only help her- only teaming up with her wouldn’t take the point across. He had to _be_ there. From then onwards, being the hero Paris wanted… the hero Marinette wanted for Paris. That what she already was - he had to prove her, himself and the world, that _that_ weight wasn’t meant to be on her shoulders. It couldn’t be. 

 

It wasn’t. 

 

He’d take that responsibility. For her. 

For her, he would. 

 

The fight towards the world she put herself on the line to create, was finally on. 

 

 

At the picture of her being the one on the front line, all question marks faded. 

 

.

.

.

 

She’d keep on running around, following whimpers and finding confused, rather lost people and gathering them together, trying to prevent them from getting smashed… or worse. 

 

Marinette wanted to have a great idea on how to stop the… akuma, the monster that kept on inviting chaos. Even though, those attacks seemed to come from seriously different forms every time. 

Were they even related? 

Different monsters, different solutions? 

 

So she couldn’t possibly study them, either. 

 

Plus, they were _magical_ monsters, that she was sure of. 

 

She was growing frantically when her mind started racing on how much she was useless given that _magic_ detail, and she focused as much as she could on remaining calm. On remaining there, present and steady, for anyone she could find. Anyone she could help. Anything would be enough, right? she needed to do something, and anything would do. 

 

Except that it wouldn’t! there _was_ a magic, huge, mysterious creature yelling and destroying buildings at its peace. 

So just wandering around, trying to help its _victims_ , most definitely _wouldn’t_ make the trick. 

 

She had to absolutely do something actually useful.  

 

.

.

.

  

He found the akuma -an angry delivery man, who apparently wanted to keep all pedestrians still and shut, most likely to prove a point. 

Adrien, on his suit, jumped over his inflated shoulders and proceeded to try to disarm him. The akumatized victim kept on getting, in a visibly surrealist way, huge wooden boxes that he’d just splash around at his too-big feet, not without abolishing several small buildings and even trees on his way. 

He figured the magic was coming from the guy’s cap, so he proceeded to try to get near his head, looking for an angle in which he wouldn’t get in between the guy’s already fidgeting arms. 

 

But no sooner Adrien was ready to pursue his presumably final movement, an intruder got caught up into the fight… well, more like _jumped_ right into the fight, appearing from wherever above the hero and his rival, and landed just as dangerously close to the akuma in front of him as for grabbing its cap by the edge and finally proceeding to fall- 

Adrien rushed himself to catch the cap -key to his latest worries- but to catch as well, apparently, the stupid _intrèpide_ that had just got involved by personal choice in such an unwelcoming scenario. 

 

Honestly, what was wrong with Paris lately?

 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

Marinette was thankful and about to cry with _fear_ as she saw the akuma heading to her family bakery. 

 

For one, _his parents._

For another: her balcony!

 

She ran, ran, ran - jumped. 

 

Took on whatever looked odd that time -a cap?-, just as she thought to herself she should have been able to do on the previous attack, and high-fived herself internally as the guilt she kept inside ever since for not having been able to react as she’d have liked to, finally lifted away.

 

And then she was falling.

 

And she closed her eyes, realizing her mistake. 

 

.

.

.

 

At every one of hawkmoth’s attacks, she seemed to be there. 

 

She appeared on his arms, fallen and barely holding a cap in between two of her fingers on what looked as a nonchalant pose in spite of the circumstances ( _her_ circumstances). 

 

 _Of course_ she’d be the suicidal, reckless shadow. 

 

 

Still, his heart broke a little at the realization.

 

And it broke even more when he watched her eyes fixed on his. 

 

Ocean-blue… star-gazing-night blue. Holding the universe still, shining. 

Shining and trembling and steadfast blue. 

 

_Blue._

 

.

.

.

 

She was put down and, without being able to communicate with her brain, she realized a bit too late on how she was suddenly feeling a cold breeze once more- a refreshing and familiar breeze. 

 

Along with it, everything was dark for a moment and it was as if the sun had closed its eyes and were about to wake up again only to greet Paris with a newfound smile. 

 

Instead, she looked at the guy in the mask and it wasn’t the sun the one to warm up her world anymore. 

 

Even though, he wasn’t even smiling: a dead-serious look on his face as his electric eyes itched her skin (which still felt his recent embrace, she knew) and she remained planted there, now breath-taken, as she watched -this time from up-front, the cat-man heal her city. 

 

The eye-contact felt like the suited guy pretended to dig a hole through her, almost making her want to quickly check behind her shoulder. 

But she just had the feeling that there would be nothing there.  

 

Instead of that, she chose not to divert her gaze from his figure. 

The raven-haired girl mental-pictured her twice-savior, learning by heart the soft curve of his nose, his flustered cheekbones and the sparks on his extraterrestrial iris. 

 

And so, she stood there. 

 

Unable to mutter a word. 

 

.

.

.

 

As unbelievable that sounded, her random appearances on his life (and his intended ones at her workplace) did nothing but to increase. 

That is, even more. Until the point he developed such an interest on her he just had to go visit her, under his safely put together disguise to cover his skin. 

 

But he wouldn’t dare to molest her, and left unseen. 

 

He’d watch her at her bakery, after the attack. 

He’d watch her as the sun went down. 

 

He’d still watch her and her face growing tired from attending customers, one after the next. One, after the next… 

 

And he kept on watching her, as she went out all of a sudden, and as she came back, with a small grocery bag tied up on one of her wrists. 

She watched her walk by as the lights lighted up, and as she was accompanied solely by the soft sounds of her own steps on that indulgent night… 

 

As he climbed down. 

 

.

.

.

 

It happened on an alley. 

 

Marinette kept thinking just how bad she had missed by not doing anything about her chance on talking to her new role-model. She just knew what Alya would tell her… but what could she have said? 

A mere “thank you” didn’t felt right. 

 

Yet again, “thank you” would’ve been _something._

 

 

And, like a thief in the night, he was there. 

 

Her breath encompassed with his every step. Every step. 

…further. _Further._  

Closer. 

 

His _eyes,_ and her lungs hot and pressured; her breathing uneven as green lights shoot at her through the even blurrier surroundings on that street. Blurrier by the second. 

 

Two emerald lights, giving her focus. 

Signaling her, separating her from the planet Earth. 

 

A smirk, drawing itself on his soft, _young_ face.

 

He was not more than twenty years old - _No…_ he was even younger than that. 

He was, if possible, around her own age. 

 

Around her own age, and still so far apart? 

 

So far apart, and still _right there._

In front of her, at just about three or four meters far away. 

 

Three.

 

Two. 

 

_One?_

 

 

Her knees shook. 

 

 

But he bowed before her. 

 

 

Her body gasped, without her actually making the connection (the connection between her mind, heart, and everything else that just fell out of her control with the beating of her rushing soul). What was she expecting? Nothing. What was she not expecting? Everything.

 

She had disintegrated. She had died, she had died and she was back in that moment, repeating it through all of eternity. This was a dream, an after-death experience and she was there, and there was no time and no space and no world to come back home to. 

 

“And here I thought” he began “I wouldn’t have to give a fight for a place as Knight of this city of lights…” 

 

His voice, almost nostalgic, was betrayed by his eyes, which gave away his bashfulness. 

He felt serene, almost afar. 

But he looked at her in such a way she just knew he was very much _right. there._

 

 _“_ Wh- No, no, that’s not- wha-what do you mean?!” 

 

Startled, she _should have_ made him worry. Feel sorry for her, even, for intruding into her life like that. 

Recklessly, too, like that. 

Instead, though, her slight panic, as ever overflowed by a strong determination on her steady eyes - always kept _on him_ , made him want to continue. 

 

But she snapped, cutting in first 

“I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t do that. I just tried to help. Shouldn’t I try to help?”

 

At that, she didn’t tremble. She just _wouldn’t_. She _would_ help. She had known it to be reckless. But she also had known it to be her truth. 

Moreover, he was to Paris someone who had risked as much as her for his belief-system, and no less. Because, of course, as much as he had magic on his side, he still was risking his life… 

That’s right. He was putting himself in danger, and now he was reclaiming that danger? as galant as that made him sound, and as much as it was probably part of his duty as a hero – as much as she’d make him angry, her fight was just as right as the fact that she… that someone like _her_ had found her strength by looking at him. 

 

And she wouldn’t just gave that away. 

 

“You know…” he continued, intertwining his words to her thoughts,

pressing her gut. She would’t just gave this away. Even if she had to convince him and the world just as she had convinced herself. 

 

“I do wear a mask for a reason.” 

 

“Yeah? what should _I_ do then?” she fought back

 

 

Such a simple question. 

Such a mindless question. 

 

Such a basic remark and he didn’t really have an answer now, did he? 

What? what should she be doing instead? 

 

Protecting herself? Over many other citizens? 

 

 _Yes!_ But she’d ask _why,_ and he’d have to explain her how much she _wasn’t_ just a citizen… for him. But, now, he couldn’t say that, could he? 

 

 

Could he? 

 

He most likely couldn’t. 

  

“Besides.” she cut “I don’t even know your name!” 

 

She said, placing her hand’s heels on her hips. 

She was definitely more cut out to be a hero than he’d ever be. 

 

But he just wouldn’t tell _her_ that, either… 

 

So what was he going to tell her? 

 

Had the cat eaten his mouth now, irony be blessed?

 

“Paris is literally trusting you with its life, and what do we know about you? Just a boy in a costume… in a cat- no, in a _black cat_ costume. 

The Black Cat that would turn to random girls on lonely alleys when darkness fell. Isn’t that supposed to mean _bad luck_?” 

 

 

He smirked again, ripping apart every piece of that strong façade that the dark-haired girl was merely holding together as her best resort, all in trying to explain him- trying to persuade _him_ of… of letting her be? 

And it’d surely meant no more talking to him… or, not anymore, not after this. Was she yelling at him? How, even? How had she managed, with what voice was she seriously scolding _him?_

 

Her thoughts’d barely keep up to her words, as she still couldn’t process what was standing in front of her. _Who_ was. 

 

His own silhouette embracing him, darkness around him almost making him glow in an unnatural way, and still, he felt so… 

so natural. 

Like he just _fit_ in the spot. 

 

So her mouth kept on rambling, numb under his proximity. Almost under his very nose, slowly regaining its form in the darkness. 

Almost. Always almost. 

 

Her eyes tried to readjust to what was going on around her. 

 

Wandering in between spaces that could no longer be hers. 

 

Into a space that was now forever his. 

 

“Why would you even choose a disguise that’d mess so bad with your intentions? I take it you have bad luck?”  She said, from a nervous mid-giggle to a growing slower, quieter sigh. 

She was falling into a new-found peace, ending her words in what _almost_ was a breathy whisper. 

A whisper that, under normal circumstances, he shouldn’t have heard. 

 

Giggling and exasperation became one in that alley, that night. 

 

But when he recovered his senses, his lips spilled words. Carelessly. 

Mindlessly. 

 

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Indeed, I am glad you took right my name- I am…” 

  

The whole world stopped for a moment, and-

 

“Yes, I _am_ \- I am _Chat Noir_. But I do believe, mademoiselle, this black cat’s luck is about to change.” 

 

At her astonished face, he winked and kept on improvising, making it up as he went on, slightly taken aback by the fire on her words, even when her pulse was visibly a threaten on her neck. So he continued,

 

“I see you, and I by no means intended to startle you this evening, miss…” 

 

and at her lack of words, he kept on rambling, still trying to make up for his behavior. 

 

“but you, too, have to understand that a… Knight,” 

  

He said, remembering his previous words, as he went on

  

“ …can’t stop looking after his lady, even after a fight, no matter how good it was, you see?” 

 

and on, and on, and on. 

 

“I’ll… take that as as a “yes”, and as my queue to leave… for now.” 

 

He said, as he gently knelt before her and proceeded to take a hold of her hand between his own. 

She was too dazzled as to respond nor to back off, and, at that, she just stood there. She stood her as she watched him approach her. Talk to her. 

Confuse her. 

Touch her. Alter her insides and... change her. 

 

He kissed her knuckles, and when his eyes met again hers, his smirked came back to its now-strangely-familiar framing, and as the black man-cat pacely rose up again, he proceeded whispering- almost mouthing, so quietly if it weren’t for the loudly short distance between the two bodies, she couldn’t have possibly heard, 

 

“It’s honestly been my pleasure… to _finally meet you_.” 

 

Her eyes, widened. 

His smile, fixed. 

 

“Good night… _Princess.”_ he resumed, 

 

 

And she was alone. 


	5. Let me steal this moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU immensely for all the support. It may sound silly, but this is my first fanfic and any acknowledgement was totally unexpected. I am sooo grateful for you guys

 

Isn’t Paris graceful, on his superhero taste? 

However it was that it had come to this, Alya was living the dream. 

 

Decided to interview one of the most history-changing figures of their life-spam, she created a column on _Black-space_ , the school’s newspaper, to catch the hero’s attention.

 

While discussing the hero’s whereabouts in class, though, Alya drew out her best-friend’s opinion on the cat-like hero, as well. 

 

Little did she know just how much the columnist had just accomplish that resolution. 

 

.

.

.

 

His chest suddenly shut down and-  why was his whole body tingly and aware of the pale girl’s voice? 

 

Adrien took on their conversation and congratulated Alya on her great idea, although, as he said, he just wasn’t so sure of the capabilities of this new “superhero” himself– mocking tone intended. 

 

But, as always, life wasn’t how he first thought it to be, and as ever since his increasing visits to the bakery, he kept learning that faster and faster.  

 

So, she jumped in, fiercely defending Chat Noir.

Adrien’s eyes widened, Alya blushed with excitement for her best-friend, visibly proud of her. 

Nino, slightly startled, remained anyways impartial to the whole situation. 

 

And she stood there, defending him. 

 

.

.

.

 

Adrien lashes briefly looked down at her complains- had she offended him? 

 

The thought rushed through her mind, but defending Chat Noir was still the least she needed to do. 

She couldn’t shut herself up. 

And it still was by no means enough. 

 

Then, Chloé rambled and pointed at her, threateningly. 

She felt as if someone had just poured cold water on her scalp- and, for a moment, couldn’t think. Nor anymore, nor anything at all. 

 

 _“Ha”,_ Chloé slowly began to make a big fuzz about her trembling nails, yet again. 

Where was her strength? was it all a play as she feared? as Alya had implied: what would follow once she came across a really important situation? was she ready to face a fate like that? 

She was just a girl, wasn’t she? 

 

Just a little girl. 

 

She couldn’t even face Chloé…

 

Not even Chloé!

 

_No…_

She couldn’t just give up now, could she? 

 

Not just because of something like this. She didn’t want to be scolded down by someone like her antichrist, and definitely she wasn’t about to let herself drop her hopes and dreams like that by some queen-bee. 

 

That’s how Chloé gets people akumatized. And she knew it. 

And Marinette wouldn’t let it get to her, too…

 

Now, would she? 

 

 

Her heart was beating sorely, feeling almost cornered by a pointy, cold glass- 

 

But Marinette saw a quiet and strong gaze fixed in her direction. A warm, green gaze- comforting her, knowingly. 

 

Two eyes, talking to her and offering her just what Marinette was missing. 

 

 

_Adrien._

 

 

Emotion or thunder blew loose on her arms and neck, filling her head with what could as well have been empty noise but came out of her instead in a storm of words and promises that not even herself thought she was capable of processing without stammering with her own feet

“I will not stand anymore of this, Chloé. I will do my best. I know what I believe in, and it may not make sense to you, to any of you, maybe not even for me- not even for Chat Noir” she felt her heart shrinking on her fists as that last thought echoed on the back of her eyes, itching “but that doesn’t matter.” 

“It doesn’t, you wanna know why?” She gasped, holding back emotion as she tried not to choke at her classmates’ shocked, fixed looks “‘cause that’s only fear. Because this is about here and now and about nothing else- not about even the future, about everything that’s missing and that we don’t understand… about what will anyone think of me.” She recovered her breath and kept the now steady fuzz on her ears from getting her to fall down, 

“About what will become of me. No, that doesn’t matter- what does matters is that there are akumas out there, and a person on its own with the responsibility of a country, or even of the world on his shoulders. It means that this is not about losing or winning, not even of what will become of us- of Paris, of anywhere and anyone. Akumas are something to be fought. And I will not head home at the sounds of screams anymore- not when I now know someone else is fated to face them on their own. And that’s the only thing that matters. However this is meant to end up like, this is all that matters. This is. This… this” she kept repeating her lasts words, and the classroom felt like a fading memory in her brain, growing paler, lazier, less focused, whiter by the second. 

 

She lost track of her feet, and no sooner she came back to her senses, she had someone’s hands around her upper arm and shoulder, holding her still. 

She heard some words at a distance, and she figured her best friend was, of course, leading her out to the high school’s hall so she could catch some air.

Marinette figured she was likely in need of some fresh air, anyway, so she didn’t complain. 

The raven-haired girl looked up to find Alya, as expected, looking at her with worried, but mostly widen and sparkling eyes. 

 

Marinette blinked. 

 

Alya was holding both her shoulders and shaking her, while almost talking to herself and appearing to be obviously deep lost in extreme thrill as she didn’t even fight her Cheshire’s smile, which rested indefinitely stuck on her face. 

Flattery words kept rushing from her friend’s smiling mouth, until- one, two,… three. 

 

Three hands? 

Alya was shaking her by the shoulders, so… what was stuck on her right upper-arm, then? 

 

She looked to her side, 

only to find a pair of eyes way calmer than Alya’s, or maybe just equally shaken but way more still _fixed on her_ , on her probably even paler face… on her still slightly trembling knees. 

 

The most focused pair of eyes she had even stumped upon… 

in high school. 

 

“Are you okay?” they resumed. 

 

Was she?

 

.

.

. 

 

_However this is meant to end up like, this is all that matters._

All his doubts migrated, along with some unknown wind. He unapologetically waved them bon voyage, and- 

 

_About what will become of me- No, that doesn’t matter_

 

her full speech kept on repeat on his ears. 

He tried smuggling his own head under pillows and several covers, but nothing seemed to fix it. 

Not even one teeny tiny bit. 

 

He needed to talk to her. About something; about anything. 

Maybe try to tell her that it was okay. That her strength was enough, that she didn’t have to give him anything else. 

 

He’d be lying, of course, because he _did_ want more- but he’d gladly exchange any degree of harm she was so obviously willing to take to herself for a couple of chit-chats and coffee at her bakery. 

Any day, any time. 

 

 

Her face, her voice felt like such far memories to him. 

Why? he had only seen her that morning. 

He’d see her right at the next morning, as well. 

 

Could he be sure of that, though? 

Could he ever be a good enough hero as to prevent her from ever noticing an akuma attack- or maybe just a regular attack, before she did? 

 

He felt like she belonged someplace else. 

 

Someplace far, far away from him. 

 

.

.

.

 

Her head hurt. 

 

The sun had barely began to paint the whole city with its colors and she was already dead-tired, locked up in her room. 

She hadn’t gotten around to do her homework, not even to socialize after school. She had literally waited the whole morning after her little moment of a show at class, and then headed home with her head uncharacteristically low and being exceptionally quiet. 

Marinette was beyond drained. 

 

Why had she reacted so strongly? it’s not even like she _knows_ Chat Noir… 

But still, she knows what he’s about. She knows enough, and she wasn’t about to take any of those over-the-shoulder looks from anyone- not even from Adrien. 

 

Ugh, Adrien! The thought of having offended him grew more and more likely as she projected what had happened hours prior that day on her head. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was going on around her- something she was missing on, and, as guilt was easily finding its place in her body, it’s not like she didn’t mean what she said. 

 

Was she just being oblivious? or, maybe, quite the opposite- was she being paranoid? 

Lots of things had happened those days, so the fact that she didn’t feel like thinking straight was nothing to be wary of. 

 

Even if she had been nothing but rude to him, Adrien still was the only person who had come along with Alya and herself to comfort her after the scene. 

 

How come he had? 

Guess he’s just that kind… 

 

Innumerable tiny glimpses of memories ran around her thoughts without Marinette being able to actually take a hold nor pinpoint, let alone process, of any of them. _Too much_ … Little looks, gasps, sudden spark in unknown eyes. 

Some more looks, some more smirks and hidden smiles. 

 

But yet again, there was many, many things that escaped her, lately. 

So much she couldn’t figure out just yet. 

 

She closed her eyes, her back against her soft covers and her arms completely unfolded against her pillows. 

Marinette allowed all those memories fall around her, taking her stress down with them. 

She let her thoughts run wild, and sense escaped her embrace. 

 

She let everything go, and for once after a while, she relaxed fondly; took air, and fell soundly asleep in a matter of seconds – not without, of course, one last picture playing on her head, slightly dancing around, brighter than the others and holding the world still.

 

 

 

Had Adrien been smiling an awful lot that morning? 

 

.

.

.

 

 

Adrien hadn’t even had the chance of talking to her after class. With her speech and all, she seemed shocked and stuttered all the same around him. How come he always had such a bad timing, as to talk to her when she was the least focused, least willing to respond to his efforts? 

 

Maybe he wasn’t meant to be her friend. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be able to exchange a simple _hello_ with her at all. 

 

And he couldn’t care less, of what the hell he was meant to and whatnots. 

 

So he jumped, decidedly to get a pair of cookies at the very least if she really wouldn’t talk back to his alter-ego either. 

 

.

.

.

 

She woke up from the dead like a thunder had just splashed all over Paris- and she was alone in the middle of a soundless night. What the heck was wrong with her, all covered in cold sweat and asleep at…?! one o’clock in the morning. Okay, so maybe she was just a bit disoriented and nothing else. 

 

But a strong _thump_ startled her all over again and, before she could shake the last of her sleep out of her head- _thump.. thump, thump, THUMP_ she realized it was somewhat of a raw intent of a _knock_ on her upper window, and, faster than she should’ve, she headed towards the source of the sounds looking for answers. 

 

Her first thought was a pigeon, maybe even a lost squirrel. Maybe a fallen plant- although it didn’t feel like a windy night.

Her last thought was a cat. 

 

And she had been right. 

 

.

.

.

“Is everything alright?”, there were no akumas to be found, but he had to create his chance. 

He had to present himself to her, properly. 

“I realize I may have not come across the best of your protector, seeing how our conversation went the other day…” She looked up to him, her features enlightened with the night’s light. 

“Aren’t you all of Parisians protectors? It-it’s not like I’m c-complaining” He smiled at that, feeling almost instantly welcomed,

“My, I _do_ care for every one of you. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable…” He felt his cheek grow into a playful smirk as hers turned pinker, “even though that… I would prefer to call myself your own, personal protector, Princess” he kneeled down and kissed her knuckles.

With that, he stayed for a bit longer and, before he could look at himself, Adrien had already lost the last bit of his composure and was falling into a smiling mess of flirting, joking and sharing. 

He just couldn’t help it: at every gaze of her ocean-blue stare, he forgot why it was so important to approach her in a certain way or another and his inner thoughts kept stumbling down in almost instant confessions, telling her about any and every anecdote he could possibly think of and just making her smile, smile and _smile_ some more. 

And he slowly decided at her giggles that, maybe- just _maybe_ , none of this was so bad if he got to take responsibility for that sound. 

 

As he displayed parts of his soul at a speed he wouldn’t have believed himself of being capable of, he gave up to the persisting warmth that drew him towards her and to the temptation of coming out of his head. 

Every time he’d look outside the window now, or every time he’d run away from his father’s control and strolled around- every time he’d let his mind wander, he’d have someone to tell.  

 

And he could just admire what he knew was only the beginning. 

.

.

.

 

Small, easy talk followed. 

 

At first, she couldn’t believe Chat Noir was at her balcony at night, much less checking up on her— after learning that there was not, in fact, an akuma attack of any sort taking place near the bakery or beneath it, she seemed to startle even more, falling to question what was a black-suited hero on disguise playing visitor late at night… _Visiting her._

 

She, however, recovered her senses and muttered _thank yous_ and easy jokes, at first almost automatically, at her random, somewhat unfortunates encounters at ever single danger that had appeared. 

Without initially intending to but gradually getting lost in between silly puns and outgoing, relaxed, _familiar_ smiles, she also explained how she had grown fond of her bad luck and was now somewhat decided to take a new approach to her life. 

 

She vaguely figured on her sleepy head that Chloé must have had leaked out some rough comments on Marinette’s declared intentions of going with the hero on his following encounters. 

But the next morning, at class, she found out nothing like that had happened- that, in fact, everyone in her class had been less than flustered by her rather new _heroine-wannabe_ behavior.

Maybe it wasn’t so new? Maybe no one believed her? Maybe she was just plain predictable. 

“Plain old Marinette”, she sighed to herself. 

She discarded the strange feeling building up on her stomach and decided that _he_ had probably just grown worried for her after having met each other on more than two attacks, after all.  

Nothing special. Nothing personal. 

Not that she wanted it to be. That didn’t change anything, all in all.

 

So when Chat Noir showed up that night, too, she kept on talking to him, allowing herself to forget her initial doubts and wrongly self-answered explanation at his rather odd behavior towards her. 

She got lost in between laughs and warmth. 

She wouldn’t wonder even the nature of the almost eerily closeness that encircled them. 

 

Marinette let herself grow more and more relaxed around him- maybe it was his puns; or maybe it was the way the moon seemed to give life to his golden locks; or perhaps it was the way his eyes shone at her as if they had known each other their whole lives; or maybe it was the way his full lips smiled childishly, stealing heartbeats while talking about the smallest, as well as about the biggest of things. 

So she talk to him- like she had barely allowed herself to talk to someone other than Alya or even her parents before- she talked about her fears, her hopes; about the life that was thrown at her and about what she wanted to do out of herself. 

She just talked. 

 

And he listened. Taken aback at first- even having heard her speech the morning prior to his first visit as Chat Noir, it had apparently not been enough to convince Adrien that what she meant was actually _real_. 

 

That the penetrating, dooming look in her eyes was indeed there to stay with her, never minding how much her legs would tremble beneath her. 

 

And he saw himself draw a routine out of his visits to Marinette as Chat Noir. 

 

This visiting kept going for one, then one and a half weeks until they somewhat developed an habit out of it: she’d let her lights on and an eye on the balcony, and he’d tell her about his patrols and would rest briefly with her before heading back home. 

 

Did he live that far away? 

Seemed unfair, at some level, but she had already learnt from him that he didn’t even choose bearing his burden. No one ever chose that, she imagined. 

Not that she wanted to question him. His visits had grown fondly in her and she fantasized and craved them with what Marinette knew that wasn’t, but looked like a questionable obsession. Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea, and definitely not something that even began to make sense, staying up with him everyday. 

It just felt so right.  

 

After some more small chats, filled with easy giggles and relaxed confessions- about her friend, about her passion for drawing and the consequent design, about food… 

 

And then in her room. 

Some more talking, some more showing pictures, music, videoclips and videos and then some games. 

 

Those days passed by quietly, without akumas, without speeches and without any fuzz for any of them. 

And yet, her drumming body would keep her up at night for a couple hours every night after he left. After he’d leave her with a final, warm green, soft look and a softer smile. 

 

Several weeks had passed as they only grew fonder. And sleepless. 

 

Every night now, before it was too late, when he decided on leaving the now Princess, he'd crawl up her balcony after kissing dearly her forehead and returning to the cold skies. 

She, with a ranting heartbeat, couldn’t sleep. 

 

At the same time and after some awkward exchanges in class, Adrien kept picking her things up for her every time she dropped something (which was several times per class).

Her classmate kept on giving her random compliments, almost at anything at all, and she noticed that only made her lose yet more sleep. 

 

What was wrong with her, getting all heated up for no other than two people at once? 

 


	6. Eight ways to the heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his chest, a thousand drums.

Every teeny tiny part of her was begging for her to stop.

But the more Marinette felt small and not enough, the more she needed to prove herself wrong.   
Or to at least try.

 

Lately, her chest was on fire and tears kept swimming in her eyes, but what else was she supposed to do?

 

The only thing she knew for sure was that there was no way in hell she could go back to the way things were two weeks before nor to even begin to pretend this hadn’t happened. She could never act like _him_ hadn’t happened.

 

So everyday she did her usual routine. She headed to class, did her thing, came back...

Except she’d look thrice before crossing any high-road; and she’d look up, to the top of every building, whenever she came out of the bakery.

 

She did, just in case.

 

.

.

.

 

 

Alya kept rambling about something, to which Nino laughed and, more often than not, Marinette ignored (she, daydreaming a thousand planets away).  
Adrien, always keen on observing her, began to think – what was wrong really? Ever after he became Chat Noir, he had grown fonder of his classmate, but she chose to grow more and more apart from him each day.

After several nights with lost sleep and Plagg’s lectures, he chose to actually try to get closer to her as Adrien, which was the obvious curse of action to begin with.

  
So, what could he do?

 

 

 

 

Thinking, thinking and thinking.

She was simple and straightforward, for which nothing money or his father could acquire would suffice. But still it had to be something perfect, but also something that came from him- since, say, Alya would of course be of help or would in any case do better at getting her best friend a present but, that was not the point. He had to do something as Adrien, before Marinette forgot about his existence completely.

 

He really wasn’t good at keeping friends after all, was he?

 

 

But after lunch break, as he came back to the main hall, he got a glimpse of the object of his sleepless nights... as she focusedly kept on drawing something... some dress, it looked like.

 

And, honestly... his father was a recognised fashion designer after all, wasn’t it?

Maybe he wasn’t that lost after all. 

 

.

.

.

 

When that hell of a morning, after which everything that could’ve gone wrong went very much wrong (fell asleep, misplaced Tikki, forgot her phone, had to come back, couldn’t properly have breakfast, tripped and fell while running for school, got a last-minute headache, forgot her homework at home yet again this week....) when Adrien, after all of that, chose to approach her with a shy, rather glowing and very, very kind and caring look on his eyes, she officially stopped breathing. Whatsoever.

 

«Marinette,...»  
And god her name was pretty when he called her. «Listen,»  
flustered, them both, he offered her something: A small textile red bag, with two small black cords that closed it without much difficulty – a ladybug pattern bag, with two black polka-dotted cords.

He head almost got whiplash.

 

She had to take better care of her health.

.

.

.

 

 

Her new cookie-bag was perfect.

She spent hours that night, looking at it under the artificial almost-orange light at her desk.

Did Adrien really bother to get something specifically for her? For real?  
«it reminded me of you» she recalled, her chest in flames.

What was she supposed to think about all this? Honestly?

Nothing made sense anymore.

 

But her chest was all happy and hurting all the same.

 

Laughing and giggling about it all, some new ideas popped into her head...

 

«Ladybugs. You know, for good luck...» Alya did laugh at that, finding Marinette could indeed use a better luck, with all her homework-forgetting deal, tripping and falling and all.

But still that was so, so sweet.

  
Thinking about it, her parents did call her sweet names like that when she was a child.

 

Ladybugs.

 

«For good luck».

 

Without intending to, two glowing green eyes stroke her in her head, and she shut her eyes open.

She did want to help him, right?

 

She’d probably need some good luck of her own.

 

.

.

.

 

 

As he watched her there, sitting at her desk, peacefully day-dreaming and writing here and there and just looking at his present for her from earlier that day, he sighed.

His kwami was probably having a hell of a time laughing at his stupidity from wherever inside that cat-suit was, but, still, it was all worth it.

 

If a simple present like that had made her look at it for hours, then, it was mission accomplished. _Bien joué_ , he thought to himself.

Maybe it wasn’t enough of a present for Marinette to notice him back again at class all of a sudden, but when he spotted that fabric- he knew, even if it was maybe too simple or useless to be a decent present, that it was too... Marinette.

It was a happy, simple, straightforward fabric. But also a red and black, intense fabric.

It was strong, and it was cute.

It was determined and strong-headed and nice, because it was Marinette. And it would’ve been a crime not to get it for her, just because the universe was screaming so so loud, and he did just that.

.

.

.

Later on, inspired by Adrien, of course, she managed to get a considerable amount of red spandex, which, after a lot of dying and screaming, got close enough to a similar, if not more, ladybug-patterned-suit, skin tight.

Without powers, though, but still – pretty close to Chat Noir’s style. Although she hoped it wouldn’t look too silly on her as for him to laugh.

 

 

Instead of that, though, right when Marinette was about to finish the last touches on his spandex-suit, those terrible screams started off again.

Instead of spinning off, however, she insisted this time around on actually putting that disguise on... except it took for her way too long, and before she could began to think of second plans, she saw the akuma, sort of a politician, this time around – and Chat – jumping (or falling) right across her street. Yet again.

She ran, stupidly, to her balcony, as if she could be of any help up there instead of down the street, where she could actually get to the akuma – or to Chat, if needed.

But she ran to her balcony, desperate for catching a glimpse of her... stray.

 

And she did so.

Maybe he yelled at her or even threatened her on getting out of the way while fighting crime, which he kept on doing more and more often each day – him, trying to be focused, and at the same time just imploring someone or something to just please keep her away from stealing years of his life.

But he fell, and the attacks of the Diplomat were on the edge of getting fatal if he kept on dodging too slow or... falling. But he saw the Patisserie, and he knew where they were, he knew where he was and he knew where _she_ was and it was all too much, because he was hurting and he was running and he was dodging and he was falling and he was losing and she was right there, looking at him. She was now looking at him straight in the eye... and he was on the air.

 

Bluebell,

 

bluebell eyes.

 

 

.

.

.

 

«NO!»

Worry, sorrow and brokenness all on the pit of her stomach threatening to tear it apart and split her in half – Chat Noir fell and hit hard.

 

 

 

He didn’t like her ruining her life. But having her away, disappeared, no sight of Marinette nor up at her balcony or next to him nor anywhere to be seen, actually made things worse: for her safety, and apparently for his, as well, since he was so utterly concerned about his lady (from beneath the ground, barely aware, more paranoid than he was conscious)

His lady. He felt such a strong connection and so drawn to her, his hands almost shaking when looking at her.

 

He felt himself drifting apart.

Even when some strange sounds awoke next to him and surrounded everything he knew.

 

.

.

.

 

She couldn’t watch him get hurt and do nothing.

She couldn’t watch him get hurt, period.

 

As civilians started freaking out on what to do when Chat indisposed like that and what not to do with a frenetic, almost psychotic «diplomat» running around scaring and breaking anything and anyone, everyone followed when someone started directing the crowd to safest spots, to organise – at first, a young, all ready quite-well-known, red-headed journalist... and, at last, a red-spotted figure.

 

.

.

.

 

Distraction, distraction, reaction.

  
Running, dodging, running...

Plan?

 

«When you don’t know what to do... where to go... where do you go??»

 

Running, dodging, running.

 

«Chat Noir needs you!! come on, think!»

 

Running, jumping...

and she thought about a pretty much terrible plan that could as well work.

So, where do you go when you’re lost...?  
  
«Okay this can’t get much worse, let’s do this» and Marinette jumped, in a skin-tight spandex ladybug-patterned suit, to the Parisian cold river.

 

And the Diplomat fell, almost drowning because of his own weight, until he let go of everything he was holding dear life onto – amongst it all, a red carpet that seemed to scream her name – calling to her or was it actually glowing?

 

She grabbed the thing on instinct and kept on swimming, until they were both «safe» and she ran to Chat – ran to him. Always to him.

 

She could deakumatize the item, if she was right and had got it right, whenever he came back to consciousness but, what to do? Was it wise to ran after the akuma if she could do nothing else? Why couldn’t she defend herself better?

It was definitely time for her to sign up some self-defence classes... but still, she needed to be more of a tank and less of a support if she wanted to be more than a waste of space next to him!

Him, speaking of which: what was she bound to do?

 

.

.

.

 

Adrien managed to get his heavy eyelids open only to see the back of his princess, half-asleep and in a very uncomfortable position, basically lying on herself all cluttered, and reached for her.

 

What on Earth had she done?

 

 

Water, cookie, and a couple explanations later.

 

Bottled-akuma released and cleansed, and a guilty and stubborn Marinette which he didn’t know whether to thank or to be mad at.... so he hugged her, and he hoped that was enough for now.

 

.

.

.

 

 

After a tense moment they had agreed on working together part-time, only when she thought necessary. Otherwise, she’d leave it at him.

 

But why wasn’t that enough?

She still was so shaken for what had almost happened back there.

 

Deep down, she still was so, so worried – and so, so angry at herself it was driving her miserable.

 

She really would want to take his place.

 

And he’d really, really want to get it all over with… except he didn’t.

 

He liked – he loved - this second life (now). What it meant: to talk to her, to walk with her. To protect her.

To do something.

An interaction that made sense and gave him a reason on why he’d be here right there and then...

Because he knew wasn’t special- and not to her. But at that moment, he could’ve been.

He could be.

 

And his life was suddenly filled with possibility.

 

(But it wasn’t worth it.)

It wasn’t, if he couldn’t put her away from danger.

Was nothing ever enough? Couldn’t him, even with a superhuman alterego, be able to protect her for the tiniest bit? As for her to have to prowl at night doing his job? Is that how useless she thought of him?

 

And he knew it wasn’t like that – she’d never be that mean.

In his chest, a thousand drums. He felt the corners of his eyes getting white and blurry. Feeling dizzy, his thoughts kept circling.

 

 

And he wanted to cry.

To run.

 

As he had wanted to run so many times by now. Except right now, it was different.

 

And Adrien -or Chat Noir- couldn’t tell which was worse, as hard to believe as that was in his head.

 

So he’d cry, to find the void that was looking for him one way or another, just so he could scream in it until the last of his lungs ceased to exist as far as he cared.

 

This time around, thought, he’d have to suck it up and get back there (in mind, as he was in body), just to get her to stay at her place for a couple more nights before her next reckless move, knowing that even the lightest of her words would mean nothing if the moment “asked for it.”

If so, he could as well lose her.

  
So he’d have to suck it up, just to keep her safe for a couple more nights – tops.

But he did just that knowing he never could do anything to stop her.

 

What a brilliant time to have super powers. And even more of a time to be alive.

 

 

.

.

.

 

 

There was a pattern, she realised.

Chat Noir would show up. Second, she’d feel the floor tremble… or was that before he showed up?

She wasn’t sure of those two, but, still: third; her room would hold its breath.

Forth, fifth and sixth: nothing was real (except his eyes, eye-talking to her own, to life and to the world, reminding her of her own eyes, her own life, and her own body. Body that was alive, almost reminded by him.

 

Seventh, Chat Noir’s smile.

And eight and final: there would be the pun - and everything would blurt in her loud, uncontrolled laugh.

 

 

But it all came to two words. Not three, not one.

And she’d know those words at the end of the world if it killed her.

 

 

Chat Noir. Chat Noir. _Chat Noir._

 

Chat…

 

 

impulsive, reactive, brave, reckless, self sacrificing cat. An overprotective chat, actually. «My beautiful», he’d say. «Milady», he’d purr.

 

Defending her, giving her a speech and comforting her. In battle, or at night, almost crying, almost talking in his sleep.

She’d watch him and she’d be there, sucking on every second this life and universe had granted her the glory of sharing her breaths with her Chat Noir. Not that he was hers, but, in the secrecy almost masochist of her mind, he could be, sometimes.

 

 

.

.

.

 

In the limbo between his dreams about her and her pretty, almost half-asleep face, he stood up.

 

«I knew my princess was fond of my company after all. You should know, miss, for I am no fool! It doesn’t matter how you wound me with your words, you can’t lie with your eyes. And, glad this is all set, my Beautiful, I shall part» Chat grinned through his teeth, and she could count the flips her pounding heart struggled to made.

 

«But, I mean, It’s you who keep on coming back anyway, you know? What does that say about you?» Marinette mouth got filled with regret as she watched him turn and give her his back. Had she gone too far? Maybe she shouldn’t play with something as important as him being here -   
The little Marinettes in her head started running in circles as fear submitted and – when did she start caring this hard anyway?!

 

But Chat Noir clung in her windowsill and, smiling at her, right before jumping through her window and disappearing between the shadows calling it a day, he calmly said to her,

 

«But, Princess, do you not know what happens when you feed a stray?»

 

And he was gone.

That is, for the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me. I don't know where is this going nor if there's actually a plot or not to begin with?  
> thank you so much for your support, for actually spending your time reading my nonsense. I love you, dearly <3


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